


A Good Night

by Ashley_1999



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24856390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashley_1999/pseuds/Ashley_1999
Summary: Q reached the red light district of London by hazard and spent an evening with a mysterious man.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	A Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to be funny but just gave up lol. This is the first time I write fan-fic in English; I'm not a native speaker and I embrace all suggestions. Hope you'd enjoy it!

A programmer does not deserve fair weather.  
A programmer on the blessed island of Brittany does not deserve fair weather.  
A programmer leaving his booth before the setting of the sun on the blessed island of Brittany does not deserve fair weather.  
And so, when our dear Q treads on the muddy streets of London, having experienced black clouds obscuring the tasteful twilight with water pouring down, and this change happening within five minutes, he did not even try to swear or to shelter his curls worthy of all British men’s envy from the rain.  
At home an empty fridge and an unmade bed awaited him.  
Karma had it that once you’ve received a thick pile of cash while the lit majors are crawling to pay for their rent, you give up forever tranquility and happiness in life.  
Blast that, he has two most lovely cats he could trade his soul for.  
Anyway, he was kicked out of his office after running for about 48 hours straight on nothing except for Earl Gray, and in a delirium he took off at the wrong station to walk in probably the most chaotic area of this city, notorious for, well, prostitution.  
A yearning teen with horrible makeup passed by him. He wore a flamboyant shirt hardly covering his nipples, and a pair of jeans so worn there were more holes than cloth on it.  
Is he even legal?  
Q almost asked for his ID, but when his caffeine-infused brain finally processed all necessary information, the teen was already gone.  
Aight, guess he knew what he’s doing.  
To be honest, Q was more than a little bit nervous.  
He wasn’t a virgin who refrained from the mere mentioning of sex, but he was somehow wary of this industry since data demonstrated a worrying lack of protection, and this legally grey area hid god knows how many crimes.  
You could find questionable substances round street corners. In Q’s wilder years he’d tried pot, and though he decided it wasn’t for him, he knew where his fellow schoolmates filled their supplies.  
If for his fantastic skills in computer science, he has gotten an offer from a national security institution, he might try to solve this deep-rooted problem. Now he only spread an imaginary “Someone Else’s Problem field” over the whole of Soho.  
He was afraid some guy (or girl if she didn’t have a legit gaydar) would make show inviting gestures. Flirting was never his thing: oh how he blushed at a wink or a little nod!  
The problem is, he didn’t know how to reject them. He’d rather game on Mac than say no, and for some reason unknown to him, cause a good laugh of all bystanders.  
Over the crossroad, a man in his twenties leaned on the wall. By the way his eyes wandered on passersby, and the cheap cigarette hung on his lips, it wasn’t hard to devise his profession.  
Q had a red light’s time to compose a rejection speech. One to inspire awe.  
He wrung his brain to recall the five tips for an elegant rejection he saw on YouTube some two years ago.  
First, be sincere.  
Hey mate! Does ye know I have a Pikachu on my shorts?  
Not that sincere!  
Then show a solid reason.  
Right. I don’t have cash on me. You ok with PayPal?  
Honestly, what kind of sucker says that?  
The traffic light blinked to green.  
The last time Q was so nervous, he was an elementary schooler pushed on the stage who had forgotten half his lines.  
Each glimpse of the renowned Hamlet monologue was a sharp reminder of his shame ever since.  
The guy was eyeing him.  
Without any control over his body, Q uttered a rapid stream of half apology half nonsense to the thin air, violently crossing his fingers to pray to all deities available for a decent departure.  
After about thirty seconds of fascinating eloquence, he tripped on his tongue, and gazed down just in time to saw the guy leading a middle-aged, bald man in suits to a shattered door.  
Ouch! cried his ego.  
Shut up! said his every other part.  
He swore he heard a chuckle.  
Following the sound, he saw a man in his… actually it was hard to determine his age, for he had a charm surpassing all appearance. He was confidence incarnated. A few wrinkles indicated he was no longer in his twenties, but his celeste eyes brimming with tenderness and resolution were worth all the youth of the nation.  
And Q almost forgot his mockery.  
Almost.

tbc.


End file.
